Selfie-assured: Photographer James J. Kriegsmann, the unaccustomed target of his own lens, posed in the Dutch angle style of the period.

Portrait studios have long been woven into the fabric of American life. In years past, nearly every town had at least one storefront studio adorned with an elegant script sign and large, framed photographs on display in the window. I vividly recall my own experience at around age 4, slicked-back hair, nattily-attired in a crisp white shirt topped off with cufflinks and clip-on bowtie. Before me, an animated gentleman with one hand clutching a cable attached to a giant camera and, with the other, a stuffed bear that he waved around. That photograph exists somewhere. Its white border now tinged yellow with age, the heavy, deckle-edged paper slightly curled—a representation of my childhood self in two-dimensions, one small moment in the arc of life. The crystallized silver halide embedded in the paper that yields silky smooth and subtle gradations, immaculately printed by an artisan’s skilled hands. All families had portraits like these as a right of passage.

James J. Kriegsmann was one such studio, albeit in a league of its own. Located on West 46th Street in Times Square, it was considered the world’s premier headshot studio for four decades. A Jewish Austrian émigré, Kriegsmann was the only photographer in New York City at that time willing to accept Black entertainers, incredible as that sounds. His portraits catalog a Who’s Who of American music legends from the 1930s through the ’60s, including Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Sarah Vaughan, Slide Hampton, Ray Charles, and BB King, among countless others. His reputation among Harlem’s elite cemented his status as the official in-house photographer for the legendary Cotton Club. His shots are radiant in their originality, sparkling with optimism. His command of light and composition is a master class in the art of portraiture. The dexterity he deployed in capturing enchanting likenesses with a big, unwieldy 8x10 film camera is a wonder to behold.

The Stars, Aligned: From left, Bob Eberly of the Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra; Dinah Washington; Frank Sinatra; Fats Domino; Hazel Scott; unidentified.

It’s worth noting the extraordinary challenges posed by those wonderfully arcane 8x10 view cameras. First, they are enormous and heavy and require massive light sources. Like other photographers of the era, Kriegsmann worked with Hollywood-style floodlights, not the conveniently portable flash heads we have today. Exposure times likely took several seconds, posing a high risk of motion blur. He would have used a bulb on a long cable, wandering about, searching for the perfect angle and optimal moment to release the shutter. Those far-off gazes are actually trained on Kriegsmann himself, eliciting intensity in the eyes, teasing from them their best selves onto his oversized negatives. Counting out the time in his head as the film exposed, accuracy assured by only a photovoltaic light meter—and his experience.

Instant film for checking exposure was years away, and wasting expensive sheet film was out of the question. In fact, only a few exposures were made during a sitting, in stark contrast to the latitude we’re accustomed to today. (Imagine nailing it in ten frames or less!)

Determining the meticulous placement of lights and camera was another critical aspect of the mental calculus required to synchronize the myriad dynamics at work. Speaking of negatives, one of the reasons classic portraits of the era look so impressive is the combination of fine-grain film printed at a one-to-one ratio. An 8x10 negative is printed directly to an 8x10 glossy without enlargement, optimizing the film’s splendid creaminess. Furthermore, skin retouching was done entirely on the negative. It was mind-bending work where everything was tonally reversed, with areas of shadow appearing light and the light regions dark. A skill, no doubt, now long obsolete. Though it made perfect sense for achieving the most natural-looking result and the ability to create unlimited prints from a single, impeccable negative.

The variety and inventiveness of composition, posing, lighting, props, and focus defy comprehension. Naturally, wardrobe was impeccable, though dressing well and proper was expected back then. It’s also true that almost everything about vintage portraiture involved exaggeration and heightened perfection—much like the performers themselves. That is part of what makes them such a delight. Though much of the signature techniques of that era appear remote to contemporary eyes.

Photographers today would consider the Dutch angle, with shoulders sloped at 45 degrees, as a silly affectation. Ditto for the jack-knifed at the waist pose. Ask a sitter to look off into the distance, and the eyes go dead because they’re not focused on anything. Kriegsmann and his cohort of professional portrait shooters had quite the bag of tricks. They practiced their craft on a level that remains the gold standard. —J Heroun